


High King

by be_themoon



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-16
Updated: 2011-03-16
Packaged: 2017-10-17 01:12:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/be_themoon/pseuds/be_themoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Companion to King of the Western Wood. Sometimes the wardrobe is the only place they feel safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	High King

Lucy dreamed of Narnia every night.

She was alone in this, she knew. Susan dreamed of Narnia only rarely, and when she did she would wake up and go to the wardrobe. Susan had confided this to Lucy late one night as they both tried to fall asleep, though she would not say what in Narnia she had dreamed about.

Edmund dreamed of Narnia sometimes, but he had told her (late one night, everyone else asleep as he sat by her bed, his face pale and tight) that he dreamed of Narnia falling – overrun by Calormenes, flooded by the sea, the White Witch returning, the animals all going Wild again. And though he didn’t say anything about it, she knew he dreamed over and over again of the White Witch stabbing him. He hadn’t said anything about the wardrobe, but she had seen him walk the halls late at night, though when daylight came, he (like Peter) stubbornly refused to go near the room where the wardrobe lay.

And when Lucy woke one night, startled by something she couldn’t put into words, Peter was there, no candle in his hand, sitting on the side of her bed. She stirred drowsily and murmured his name, and then sat up.

“Pete?” she said. “It’s late, what are you doing awake?”

“Lucy,” Peter said, and there was an edge of desperation in his voice. “Was I a bad king?” She blinked in confusion, waking up rapidly now.

“Peter, how could you ask that? You were the High King. Aslan wouldn’t have let you be High King unless you were good enough for it,” she said. “Whatever’s happened?”

“I never dream of Narnia,” Peter said softly. “Not once. No matter how hard I will it, I just don’t. You dream of Narnia, but of course you would. Edmund dreams of Narnia sometimes. Even Susan does! But never me.”

“Why are you coming to me?” Lucy asked.

“When I’m near you, it feels like Narnia,” he said softly, looking down at his shoes. She slid out of bed, taking his hand and pulling him along with her.

“Come on,” she said, not even bothering to put her boots on. She never did on the nights she crept quietly to the wardrobe – Narnia, it was her opinion, was better experienced barefoot.

“Lu, where are you taking me?” Peter questioned, an edge of annoyance to his voice, though he kept it quiet. And then he saw where they were headed and stopped like a mule, dead in his tracks. “No,” he said firmly, and she could practically see the crown on his head as he stood, every inch the king of Narnia she knew he was.

“Come on, Peter,” she said, tugging at his hand. He stood a long moment, emotions warring on his face, and then allowed her to drag him along, though he moved reluctantly now, hanging behind her as much as was possible.

She had memorized the way now – her feet could have walked it in her sleep (and since once or twice she had woken up in the wardrobe, they apparently had). She kept all her attention on Peter, wearing her pleading face as she pulled him further on the way he most emphatically did not want to go. She dropped his hand as she ran to the wardrobe, her heart beating faster even though her head told her not to expect anything grand, and opened the wardrobe door.

“Lu, I’m not going in there,” Peter said, his voice strangled. “I can’t.”

She ignored his voice, crawling in without closing the door behind her, and then leaned against the back of the wardrobe, closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. The sea smell crashed down on her, and she smiled blissfully.

“It smells like Narnia in here,” she told him, her voice muffled by all the coats between them. “Ed says it smells like the pine forests of the West to him, and Susan says it smells like her wildflowers, the ones she used to decorate all of Cair Paravel with.”

“What does it smell like to you?” Peter said, and his voice was closer now. She smiled softly, opening her eyes.

“Like the sea,” she said. “The sea by Cair Paravel, in the middle of a summer’s day.” Peter’s hand pushed aside the coats and he crawled back, sitting beside her. “Close your eyes,” she said. “And breathe in deep.” Peter followed her instructions, and then his eyes flickered open, a smile stretching across his face.

Lucy waited for him to speak as he breathed in and out again, and finally blurted out impatiently,

“What do you smell?”

“Narnia,” Peter said simply. “Just… Narnia.”

He told her the next morning he had dreamt of Narnia, but not what of, and she never asked.


End file.
